


Midnight Ride

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Cigarettes, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: You’re the sheriff’s daughter, valedictorian, about to go off to college, your father’s pride and joy. You would never date a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Or would you?





	Midnight Ride

 

“Steve! Car!”

Steve stepped out of the garage, a heavy sigh huffing from deep in his chest. He threw an irritated glance in his best friend’s direction, then hurried to the car sitting at the pumps.

“Sheriff,” he nodded to the man in the driver’s seat as he leaned in the window. Steve’s eyes drifted slowly over the girl sitting beside him. She smiled shyly, looking down quickly to intensely study her hands.

“Rogers,” the sheriff said. “How’s business?”

“Busy, sir,” Steve replied.

“I’m sure that makes Mr. Stark very happy.”

“It does,” Steve grinned. “Fill ‘er up, sir?”

“Yep.” He handed Steve a few bills and rolled the window up, effectively ending the conversation.

Steve grabbed the nozzle and opened the gas tank. While he filled it, he quickly washed the windows, glancing in at the girl in the passenger seat - the sheriff’s daughter - every now and then. When he was done, he tapped on the roof of the car and watched as it drove away.

“Thanks for your help, Buck,” he grumbled as he walked back to the garage.

“Any time,” Bucky laughed.

* * *

“You’ll come home right after the movie with Natasha?” your father asked.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Always the overprotective father. You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We might go to the diner after,” you said.

“Y/N…”

“Daddy, I’m eighteen,” you sighed. “And this town is protected by the best sheriff in the world.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he chuckled. “I’m only being cautious. I worry about you. There’s a lot of unsavory boys roaming around this town.”

“You mean boys like Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes?” you mumbled.

“Yes.” His tone was not kind. “Those are the kind of boys you should stay away from, the boys who are always drinking and smoking, high school dropouts. Boys from the wrong side of the tracks.”

You pushed open the door and stepped out of the cruiser. You smoothed your skirt and grabbed your sweater off the seat. “Who decided which side was right and which side was wrong?” Before your father could answer, you slammed the car door, spun on your heel, and strode up the sidewalk.

“What was that about?” Nat asked.

You dropped onto the porch swing beside her, the two of you automatically moving in sync to push the swing. Nat had been your best friend since grade school. She was the one who had convinced you to go to college, to take a chance and move out of the small town you’d grown up in. She was also the only person you trusted with your secret.

“Just Daddy warning me about boys from the wrong side of town,” you sighed. “Again.”

“Do you think he knows?” Nat asked.

You shook your head. “How could he? We’ve been very careful.”

“If he ever finds out -”

“I’ll have to hide his gun,” you muttered. “Because Daddy will kill him.”

Natasha took your hand and squeezed it gently. “Maybe you should just try talking to your father?”

“I don’t know if he’ll listen,” you said. “Or believe me. All Daddy sees when he looks at him is a guy who dropped out of high school, a guy who spends his days hanging out at the gas station.”

“You could tell him the truth, though,” Natasha interrupted. “Tell your father he dropped out of high school to take care of his sick mother and after she died, he was too old to go back. Tell your father that he works at the garage so he can pay his bills, but that he’s going to school at night. Make him see what a good guy he is. Make him understand.”

You glanced at the slim gold watch on your wrist, a gift from your parents when you graduated high school. “We should go. We’re supposed to meet them in less than an hour.”

Natasha shook her head, obviously irritated that you were ignoring her advice, but she pushed herself to her feet and followed you down the porch steps. She caught up with you, her arm looping through yours.

“You’re going to have to tell him some time, Y/N,” she said. “You can’t love a guy and not tell your family about him at some point.”

“I know, Nat,” you mumbled. “I will. Eventually.”

* * *

You and Nat hurried down the alley behind the movie theater. Two older boys - men really - stood just outside the back entrance, both of them with cigarettes in their mouth, their raucous laughter echoing off the brick walls of the surrounding buildings. Nat reached over and squeezed your hand as you drew closer.

“Hey, doll,” the brunette smirked and stepped into their path.

“Hiya, Buck,” Nat laughed, throwing her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. “I missed you.”

Bucky laughed. “You saw me last night. You’re greedy.”

“That I am,” Natasha giggled, pushing up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Steve dropped his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it and twisting his foot to put it out, then he was grabbing you around the waist and pulling you against him, catching your lips in his. He sighed as he kissed you, his arms tightening noticeably around you. He had that shy smile on his face that you loved so much. It felt like your heart skipped a beat every time he looked at you.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” you smiled.

“Let’s go, lovebirds, movie’s gonna start,” Bucky yelled, slapping Steve on the shoulder as he and Nat passed the two of you.

Once inside, the four of you made your way upstairs to the balcony, grabbing seats in the very back row. There were four seats there that Steve and Bucky had “adjusted” by removing part of the seats, allowing each couple to be able to sit close without the armrests getting in the way. And no one ever went up in the balcony, allowing them a modicum of privacy and no chance of your father finding out about you and Steve.

You snuggled up to Steve, his arm around you. Of course, Steve and Bucky had picked the newest scary movie,  _ Creature from the Black Lagoon _ . Bucky claimed that scary movies made the for the best dates.

You’d been dating Steve since late March. The two of you had met in the diner one Saturday night after you’d survived a miserable date with the high school quarterback - a date you’d only agreed to because your father had insisted on it. 

_ It was funny how vanilla milkshakes made everything better, made you forget that the “really nice guy” your father insisted you date had turned out to be a world class jerk. After the movie, Gilmore (call me Gil) had offered you a ride home in his father’s new Hudson Hornet. A ride that had ended at the end of a dark street a mile from downtown and Gilmore Hodge pushing you into the corner of the front seat and trying to kiss you. You’d barely managed to get him off of you and stumble from the car. He’d quickly followed you, apologies falling from his lips, but you’d ignored him and hurried back toward the bright lights of downtown. You’d slipped into the diner, intent on using their phone to call your father at the station. But instead, you’d ordered a milkshake and settled yourself in the booth. _

_ That was when  _ **_he_ ** _  had stumbled in, filthy, a streak of grease down his left cheek, staining his once white t-shirt, even caked beneath his nails. He slumped in the booth across from you, head drooping, eyes half-closed. As you watched, he dragged several crumpled bills from his jeans pocket and quickly counted them before studying the menu. You heard his heavy sigh from your seat. _

_ You recognized him, of course. Steve Rogers. He worked at the gas station, pumping gas, fixing cars. He was a year older than you, though he’d inexplicably dropped out of school the beginning of his senior year and he’d never returned. He was one of the boys from the wrong side of the tracks that your father was constantly warning you about. _

_ You weren’t sure what it was, what compelled you to push yourself out of the booth, milkshake in hand, and slide into the booth across from Steve, but that was exactly what you did. You snatched the menu out of his hand, and despite his protests, ordered the biggest burger they had and a large fry, as well as two cherry Cokes. When the waitress came back with the food, you’d winked at Steve and handed her some money from your wallet. _

_ He was surprised to say the least, and he grumbled, a lot, but you could tell he was grateful. You sat with him, sneaking fries from his plate, dragging them through the catsup, and sipping your Coke while he ate. It didn’t take long before the two of you were talking like old friends. Two hours later you’d learned that he’d left school to take care of his mother who’d been ill, that his father had died when he was young, and that he was on his own. He was also going to night school to finish high school and he was considering joining the Army come summer. Turned out, he wasn’t the bad boy your father thought he was. _

_ Steve walked you home, the two of you stopping on the corner to say goodbye. He squeezed your hand and kissed your cheek, leaving you tingling for an hour afterwards. The next day he met you after school and walked you home, and the next day, then the next. By the end of the week, you were head over heels for the local bad boy. There was no going back. _

* * *

“Milkshakes at the diner?” Bucky asked.

“Not tonight,” you replied. “I have to get home.”

“She has to pack,” Nat laughed.

“Pack? What for?” Bucky looked confused.

“Y/N leaves for college next week,” Nat said proudly.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Gorgeous and smart. I got lucky. Look, you two go ahead, I’m gonna walk Y/N home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Buck.”

You parted ways, waving at Nat over your shoulder. Steve held your hand as you walked, humming quietly under his breath.

“Do you mind if we go by the shop?” he asked. “I’d like to show you something.”

You nodded, smiling. You’d go anywhere with him, to the ends of the earth and back. Anywhere and everywhere. You wondered, not for the first time, what he would say if you asked him to leave, if you asked him to run away from all of this - your overprotective father and his downtrodden life. Would he go? You thought he might.

Steve stopped in front of the huge double doors to the shop. He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the side door, gesturing for you to go in first. You stepped over the threshold, tentatively - you’ve never been inside before - and waited while Steve closed and locked the door, then you followed him deep into the bowels of the building.

He snapped on a small lamp in the corner, the light casting a small circle of light that didn’t even reach past the edge of the desk it sat on. It pushed back the darkness enough for you to see something covered with a tarp directly in front of you. Steve pulled it off with a flourish, a delighted grin on his face.

It was a motorcycle, a beautiful black motorcycle. You knew next to nothing about the two-wheeled vehicles, but you knew enough to know it looked big and powerful. You crossed the room to stand beside Steve, catching his hand in yours.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Is it yours?”

“Yes,” Steve nodded. “It was my father’s. It’s been sitting under a tarp beside the house since he died. Last week, me and Buck dragged her down here. Chester said I can work on her here as long as it didn’t interfere with my other work. Luckily, it didn’t need much. Dad took real good care of her. I finished her this afternoon.”

“What made you decide to work on it now?” you asked. “I mean, if it’s been there all along?”

“Well, I guess I’m gonna need a way to see my girl after she goes off to college,” he shrugged.

You turned to him, your arms sliding around his waist, your forehead resting on his chest. “I don’t want to talk about going away,” you murmured.

Steve rubbed your arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “But we have to,” he said. “By the end of next week you’ll be hundreds of miles away.”

You shook your head. “Maybe I won’t go. Maybe I’ll stay here with you. Or we could go away, just the two of us. Get on your motorcycle and go where no one could find us.”

“Y/N, what are you saying?” Steve mumbled. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it? Really?” you asked. “We could go anywhere we want, do anything we want. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“It does,” he sighed. “Wonderful. There’s nothing more in this world I’d rather do than run away with you, Y/N. But, your father would kill me. I can’t let you throw your life away on someone like me.”

“I’m not,” you argued. “I don’t want to leave you, Steve. I don’t.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve said. “Why’s that?”

“You know why,” you giggled. He was going to make you say it.

“Maybe I don’t,” he chuckled.

You looked up at him, pushed up on your toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Steve,” you whispered.

“I love you, too,” he replied. “Now, do you wanna go for a ride?”

* * *

You were home by midnight, slipping in the back door and cutting through the kitchen to the stairs. You weren’t expecting your father to be sitting in the dark living room, which was why you about hit the ceiling when he said your name.

“Daddy!” you squeaked. “You scared me.”

“Where you been?” he asked.

“Out with Natasha, at the movies,” you answered, trying to smooth down your windblown hair as nonchalantly as possible, praying your father hadn’t noticed it.

“And after?”

You swallowed around the lump rising in your throat. “We went to the diner,” you lied.

Your father rose slowly from his seat, set the glass in his hand down, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, you weren’t,” he said, no doubt whatsoever in his voice. “I went by the diner, you weren’t there. Natasha was there, with that kid Bucky I always see hanging around Chester’s garage. The one who’s friends with Steve Rogers.”

“Daddy -”

“I know you were with him, Y/N,” your father cut you off. “I saw you with him, saw you climb off of that death machine he put you on, I saw you holding his hand, kissing him on the street corner.” He took a step closer to you. “What are you thinking? Getting involved with a boy like that? No good can come from it. He’s a loser, no money, no future, no life beyond working in that garage, barely supporting himself.”

With your hands balled into fists at your sides, you stomped a foot and let loose a feral scream. “Stop it, Daddy! Steve… he isn’t anything like that. Do you know why he dropped out of school? To take care of his sickly mother! He gave up everything because of family. But he’s working to change all of that.”

Your father scoffed loudly. “Yeah, right. Boys like that don’t change. Trust me, Y/N.”

“The only one that isn’t going to change is you. You refuse to see the good in him.” You hugged yourself, the realization that your father would never change sending a chill down your spine. He was too prejudiced, too proud, too set in his ways to see that his little girl could love anyone other than someone like him.

“You are not to see him any longer,” he commanded, shoulders squared, jaw tight, one hand unnecessarily resting on the butt of his gun still in the holster around his waist. “In fact, you’re under house arrest. You do not leave this house until it is time to leave for school. Do you understand?”

Unbridled anger boiled in your chest. “I’m not some prisoner, Daddy. I’m your daughter,” you said coolly. “I am eighteen years old, an adult, and I will do as I please.”

“As long as you live under my roof, you’ll abide by my rules,” he sneered, the whiskey on his breath wafting up your nose. 

You’d never seen your father like this, never. He’d always been strict, overprotective, but you’d always shrugged it off, assumed it was because you were his only child, his little girl. But this was something entirely different, something you had never imagined he would do. You had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but you could see the truth in his eyes; your father would never deem Steve worthy of being with you, he would never accept him into the family. You needed to stand up for yourself, tell your father exactly what was going to happen, and if he didn’t believe you, then by God, you’d show him.

Despite it all; the frustration, the anger, the resentment, you were ready to do what needed to be done, you were ready to walk up those stairs, pack only what you needed, and walk out the door, leaving your father behind. That didn’t mean you weren’t going to miss him, but Steve was too important to you. You loved him too much to let him go because your father refused to see the good in him. 

With your chin quivering and tears pooling in your eyes, you shook your head. “No, daddy, I won’t.” You spun around and sprinted up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door behind you. It only took you a few minutes to throw a few things into a bag and change into your worn out jeans, the ones you wore on Saturday when you cleaned and an old blouse, so faded it was no longer red, but a light pink color. You sat on the edge of your bed and slipped on your Keds. You spent a couple of minutes looking around your room, childhood memories bombarding you. You pushed them down, rose to your feet, and pushed open your window. You dropped to the ground, next to your mother’s rose bushes.

“Sorry, Mama,” you whispered before taking off down the street, your feet slapping the pavement, the sound seeming to echo through the night loud enough to wake up the whole town.

* * *

Steve flung the back door open, confusion all over his face. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” He stabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the counter, grabbed your hand, and dragged you inside, eyes scanning the darkness, making sure you weren’t followed.

You fell into his arms and quickly explained what had happened, starting with the argument with your father and ending with your decision to, well, run away. You talked until the tears caught up with you and you were reduced to nothing but a sobbing mess.

Steve picked you up and carried you into the small but neatly kept living room. He sat with you on the sofa, holding you, his fingers running through your hair, murmuring nonsensical words until your breathing slowed and your tears dried up. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and brushed kisses across your cheeks.

“What do you want to do?” he whispered.

“I-I want to g-go,” you stammered.

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here,” you sighed.

“Okay,” he agreed.

You watched in disbelief as Steve hurried through the house, shoving belongings into a pair of saddlebags, and scribbling a lengthy note which he left on the kitchen table. When he was done, he took your hand and led you outside to the side of the house, the motorcycle parked beneath a small awning. He tossed the saddlebags over the back, climbed on, and held out his hand.

“You ready?” he asked.

You nodded, climbed on behind him, and secured your hands around his waist. The motorcycle started with an angry roar, startling you. Steve squeezed your hand and glanced at you over his shoulder. You bit your lip, settled yourself firmly behind him, and nodded once more.

Steve returned the nod, eased the motorcycle out of the side yard, accelerating as soon as you hit the street.

You closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder. You didn’t look up until the sun rose above the horizon.

 


End file.
